


Paint

by darlingdearestdead



Series: Nights at Pop's [5]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Betty is upset, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Jughead is in love and so caring, Kissing, but before 1.07, cuties tbh, set after 1.06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 19:23:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10419513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingdearestdead/pseuds/darlingdearestdead
Summary: Jughead was careful by nature with things he cared about, and he cared about Betty, so a small part of him, at the back of his mind, wondered if this thing was so fragile it was destined to break. But Betty didn’t feel fragile when she moved her lips against his, put her warm hands on the nape of his neck so that it made him shiver, she felt real, and willing, and so sweet.Post 1.06 but set before 1.07. Betty has a panic attack and calls Jughead over for comfort and distraction.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Ooops, it's been longer than I'd like, but life happened and all that. Anyway, just a short little piece to tide us over till the next episode. Short description of a mild panic attack at the beginning btw if that's a trigger for anyone. Hope you enjoy!

Her heart was pounding a rhythm in her throat, breaths coming hot and painful, eyes squeezed shut as if she could will the bad thoughts away. She clenched her fists, sharp, neat nails digging in hard enough to leave red marks against her skin of her palms.

Betty was experiencing one of what her mother called her ‘moods’, the panic that tasted like metal and choked, the thoughts that ran circles through her head and made her dizzy, her mother scowling and locking her sister away, and Polly herself, pregnant, sobbing, called crazy, and now missing.

She scrambled for her phone that lay beside her and, ignoring the tears that pricked at her eyes, she typed out a quick message (‘Hey, are you around?’) and the reply came through almost instantaneously (‘Be there in ten’).

She took a deep breathe, eyes shutting again, and tried to count each inhale an exhale until she heard a sharp rap on the window. Her eyes opened and she stood up, attempting to quell the shaking in her limbs and appear at least a little normal.

“Romeo is here.” Jughead said as he shoved the window open and climbed inside. “Side note, I need to think of some new references.”

“Hey.” Betty shifted quickly, wiping at the corners of her eyes in an attempt to be subtle. 

“Hey.” He moved quickly so he was right in front of her, voice serious and full of concern. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head, shifting and looking down, her breath still coming hard. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing Bets.” He moved forward. “You’re upset.”

“It’s just my mom, and Polly, and everyone. Sometimes- sometimes the thoughts they just- I can’t stop them. I’m not in control. It’s always the same question, what if I’m the crazy one here? What if I’m not actually helping at all? I went to see Polly once and the next minute she was missing. I don’t know.”

“Hey, hey, “ Jughead said, reaching up to gently cup her face, thumb tracing comforting patterns against her cheek. “You are helping. In fact you might be the only person in this godforsaken town that ever helps anyone.”

“And you. You help.” She said, small smile peeking through her watery expression.

“Nah.” He dropped his hand. “I’m just the sidekick.”

“Ha.” She replied, wiping furiously at the few tears that still escaped her eyes, letting out a shaky deep breath.

“What helps, when you get like this? What do you do to calm down?”

“I don’t know.” She looked a little embarrassed, doing that awkward, half shrug he’d seen before. “I paint my nails.”

He said the first thought that came to his head. “Paint mine.”

“Really?”

“I think my masculinity can take it.” Jughead deadpanned.

“I don’t doubt it.” She replied, and the look she gave him, eyes glowing beneath her lashes, pulled a smile from within him that an observer might have called lovesick.  “Sit on the bed. I’ll get the polish.” She continued, and as he perched on her covers, he thought that this had been a good idea. There was still the air of anxiety about her, her voice still not quite right, hands quivering a little like a bird, but there was a stillness that hadn’t been there when he arrived, the routine of searching her dresser and selecting the polish was calming to the both of them.

That only occupied half of his mind, the other half was fixated on his position, sat on Betty Cooper’s bed. He traced a hand against the pattern of the bed covers, couldn’t resist the temptation, because there was something so intimate about another person’s bed. It was the place they were most vulnerable, filled with traces of them, a strand of hair, and rumpled sheets from where they’d kicked out in their sleep, the scent that clung to the sheets.

“This color okay?” She said, shaking a bottle of dark blue polish in front of him, shaking him from his thoughts.

He could sense, however slight, just a tinge of insecurity in her voice. “Looks great, I have total faith in your nail painting abilities.”

“It’s going to be very neat.” Betty replied with faux-solemnity, moving so that she too was sat on the bed, cross-legged opposite him.  She reached over to pull his left hand towards his lap, and he wondered if she could feel his pulse begin to race.  Her face was smoothed out as she examined his hand, not as tense as it had been before. “Your nails are actually pretty nice.”

“I do understand the basics of hygiene.”

“You do?” She asked, lips twitching into a smile.

“You’re meant to shower once a month right?” He said.

“Oh.” This actually elicited a small laugh from her. “That explains the smell.”

“I-“ His voice broke a little, betraying the undercurrent of nervousness that came with their close proximity, her hand on his, and her bed. “I don’t actually smell though.”

She looked up sharply from his hand. “No. You don’t.” They maintained eye contact for a long time, Jughead felt his heart beating quickly, before Betty looked back down at his hand. “We don’t actually have to do this.” She said, her shoulder muscles that had been bunched up unravelling. “I feel better already. It was just a moment.”

He moved his hand forward, so instead of it resting in hers, he entwined them so they were holding hands. “But I was promised beautiful nails.”

“Fine. But just because I promised.” She said, slipping out of his grip so she could grab the polish, he was very aware of where his hand rested against her jeans.

She began with his thumb, painting clean strokes with the brush, no coloring outside the lines. Jughead took the opportunity to watch her, head bent in concentration, her pointed chin, pink lips that curled just slightly at the edges. She really was beautiful, like a flower with its head turned towards the sun, but there was dirt he could see too, in the curve of her neck and glint in her eye, and he liked that too. But she was more than that, and he wanted to know everything that simmered beneath the surface, and eagerly looked around her room to see what answers might lie in the trinkets and pictures that she owned.

“I like your room.” He said after a second.

She flicked her gaze away from his hand to give him a sceptical look. “You don’t actually.”

“I do.” He insisted. “”I like your posters, and pictures and stuff. I could recognise this room as yours without anyone saying.”

“Thank you.” She said softly. “I like it too. Except the walls, Mom picked that out.”

She set his hand down in her lap, reaching for the nail polish bottle. “When I was younger I wanted yellow walls, like on the cover of my Nancy Drew books. But Mom chose this so I got this.”

“Holy shit.” Jughead suddenly said, his hand tensing in her lap, causing Betty to look up at him in confusion. “Your Nancy Drew phase.”

She ducked her head in embarrassment. “Ah-“

“I can’t believe I forgot about your Nancy Drew phase.” He interrupted. “You used to call Archie Ned. You carried around a magnifying glass for like two months.”

“I was eight years old!” She protested, laughing.

“I remember when Reggie lost his favorite pen and you looked made us look for clues, and you had that little notebook.”

“Ahhhh.” She groaned, dropping the closed bottle of nail polish and covering her face with her hands in embarrassment.

“Hey.” Jughead leaned forward, prizing her hands away from her face. “I thought it was cute.”

His movement had put their faces perilously close to each other, his hands still held hers, and they eyes were locked onto each other. Betty flicked her eyes down from his to his lips and then back again, something that did not go unnoticed by Jughead.

“You did.” She said softly.

“Yeah.” He said, matching her tone.

She took her hand from his slackened grip, and reached up to tug on the curl of black hair that had come loose from his beanie, moving her hand until it was against his cheek. There was a moment where it seemed like they were both holding their breath, before Betty pressed forward to kiss him.

He smiled into her lips, his hands instinctively wrapping around her body and resting on the small of her lower back, against the soft material of her pale sweater. This was the first time Betty had initiated a kiss between them, only the second time they’d ever kissed at all, and it felt filled with significance. Jughead was careful by nature with things he cared about, and he cared about Betty, so a small part of him at the back of his mind wondered if this thing was so fragile it was destined to break. But Betty didn’t feel fragile when she moved her lips against his, put her warm hands on the nape of his neck so that it made him shiver, she felt real, and willing, and so sweet.

They pulled apart, their faces remaining close enough that their breath mingled in the warm air, and Jughead couldn’t help the goofy grin beginning on his lips. “Betty-“ He began, but then there was a creak and a shout.

“Betty!” The voice of Alice Cooper came loud and commanding from entirely too close than was comfortable, the two teenagers froze, and then again came another shout. “Betty!

“Shit.” Jughead said, with very genuine panic in his voice. His hands went slack around her and his face filled with horror, Betty might have laughed at the situation if she wasn’t aware of how genuine his fear should be: her mother was not a woman to be messed with.

“Coming Mom.” Betty called out, desperate to keep her voice as still as possible.

“Shit. Shit.” He repeated, in full panic mode, and before he could fully think through his actions he jumped off the bed and crouched behind it. This solution was weak at best, only offering him coverage if Alice didn’t step into the room, but it was too late, Betty barely had time to rush to her a door before her mother appeared on the other side of it.

“What is it Mom?” She asked, opening the door just a crack, so her bedroom was only partially in view.

“I thought I heard voices.”

“You didn’t.” Betty said impatiently.

“Betty-“ Alice began warningly.

“Maybe you’re going crazy like Polly.” She said. “I heard that can run in families.”

“Now,” Alice tried again, sounding shocked.

“Mom, I’m tired.” Betty interrupted. “Can we please not? Just for today?”

There was a pause, and then Alice nodded once, her footsteps retreating down the corridor as Betty shut the door with a sigh of relief.

“Has Mother Gothel left?” Jughead said, poking his head up from the side of the bed.

“All clear.” Betty said with a sigh.

“Great.” He jumped up, and strolled over to her. “But I should probably go right?”

“Probably.” She admitted, shrugging her shoulders in an awkward motion.

“I don’t want you locked in your tower forever.” He said.

“Me neither.” She shook her head. “But thank you, for coming over, for just, just being Juggy.”

“Hey.” He put one hand on her shoulder, and she reached up to grab it. “Don’t thank me, I’m available just to be me 24 hours a day, seven days a week. Okay?” He squeezed her hand just to emphasis the point.

“What did the world do to deserve Jughead Jones?” She joked.

“I ask myself the same thing about you every day.” He replied, but his voice was devoid of laughter, and instead of smiling he was giving her an intense look that made her blush.

Her hand dropped from where she held his, giving him the opportunity to cup her chin, and lean in to give her a quick goodbye kiss. “Stay safe Bets.” He said, before disappearing through the window, the only trace left of him a stain of blue nail polish on her windowsill.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, let me know what you thought! And thank you so much for reading.


End file.
